Then we both start shaking with silent laughter.
"That was insane," I whisper.
"That was too close."
"I fell asleep. I wasn't supposed to fall asleep."
"I know." He pulls me down to sit on the edge of the bed. "But you're okay. We're okay."
"This time." I find my clothes scattered on the floor. Start dressing with shaking hands. "Next time we might not be so lucky."
"So we're more careful."
"Or we stop." I pull my shirt over my head. "Before we get caught. Before this blows up."
He catches my hand. "Do you want to stop?"
No. God, no. Every cell in my body screams no.
"I don't know what I want anymore," I say instead. "Except you. And that terrifies me."
He stands, cups my face. "It terrifies me too. But I'm not ready to stop. Not yet."
"Even though it's dangerous?"
"Especially because it's dangerous." He kisses me softly. "We just have to be smarter. More careful."
"Define careful."
"Not falling asleep in each other's beds."
"Good start."
"No more late-night visits when Connor's home."
"Also good."
"Finding other places to be alone." His mouth curves. "Like the shop. The truck. The cabin."
"Worth it."
I should argue. Should point out all the ways this can still go wrong. Instead, I kiss him once more and slip back to my room before the house wakes up.
In my own bed, I stare at the ceiling and try to calm my racing heart.
This is dangerous. Reckless. Unsustainable.
And I don't want to stop.
Sleep is impossible after that, so I lie there watching the sky lighten through my window. By the time I hear movement downstairs—Emma, always the early riser—I've rehearsed a dozen conversations about what we're doing and how to tell Connor.
None of them end well.
I force myself out of bed and downstairs. Emma's in the kitchen making coffee, still in her pajamas.
"Morning," I say, trying for normal.
She turns, takes one look at my face, and sets down her mug.
